


Lied der unruhevollen Jugend

by christophspowerstance



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Drunken Kissing, Drunken Shenanigans, Feeling B era, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 23:14:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14459940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christophspowerstance/pseuds/christophspowerstance
Summary: After spending some time at a party, Christoph and Paul meander back to Paul's flat, wasted, to have some more fun.





	Lied der unruhevollen Jugend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arrestzelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/gifts).



> This was a birthday fic for [Brig](http://babypaulchen.tumblr.com/), who also kindly beta'd this crap, so that it sounds smooth and pretty, since English isn't my mother tongue. Thank you so much bb!! ♡

Berlin, early 1990’s

The sound of the roaring bass through the small room is deafening and yet everyone seems to welcome it. The humidity created by the great number of people combined with the confining space can be felt on Christoph’s skin, and in his dampening hair. It clings insistently to his skin, and yet every attempt of wiping away what seems to be sweat on his forearms would be completely pointless. The mattress lying on the ground underneath him, which serves to be his seat, may once have been white, but now it bears countless stains on its surface. But he couldn’t care less. The alcohol he drank makes him feel light and relaxed. He laughs at nearly every single one of Paul’s stupid jokes—he simply enjoys being completely content _and_ slightly dizzy.

Ever since he relented to Paul’s begging to join his small punk band, which at that time lacked a drummer, his life had been turned upside down. He was used to living up to somebody else’s standards. His parents, though loving and supporting, always had rather high expectations for their son and his military service, which he needed in order to study. Christoph had grown accustomed to following instructions as neatly and quickly and professionally as possible—never showing doubt, never letting himself drift away.

The lifestyle he is now coming to know is the utter opposite. Loss of control, ecstasy, not having to worry about tomorrow because they’re living in the present – Christoph never experienced these things before. He can’t tell if this is what he wants his life to be like yet, but he definitely feels like someone took a heavy weight off his shoulders. It seems like it’s the right way for now. Nobody knows if this band will have a future – and nobody cares.

In the past few months, Paul introduced him to sex, drugs and rock’n’roll; or rather, drugs, punk, and more drugs. When Christoph got wasted for the first time, Paul, who was at least as drunk and high as Christoph himself, navigated him through it. He had joined him at the toilet to rub his back due to Christoph’s body inability to take the intoxicants, only for _him_ to stumble over to the next porcelain and throw up as well.

A slightly disgusted, but still amused, smile pulls at the corners of his slender mouth. He grew somewhat fond of this enthusiastically bouncing, blonde goofball, who seems to constantly brim over with energy. He always has a cheerful glow in his grey-green-ish eyes and a jaunty laugh on his lips.

Christoph settles his gaze on said boy – although Paul is a few years older than him, he refuses to call him a man – who at this point must be downing at least his twelfth shot of some tacky vodka Flake brought along.

The tall, lean man seems to be Paul’s antipole considering he’s calmer and he doesn’t speak as much. Christoph found himself instantly liking the keyboardist with his quiet mindset, who is _now_ trying to put up with Aljoscha’s bullshit which – as always – turns out to be an impossible mission.

Aljoscha Rompe, singer of their band, isn’t quite the easiest guy to handle, especially when he’s drunk and on some shit. But Christoph has to admit, he’s fun. He doesn’t judge people and always has a smile on his drug-lined face.

“Hey, pretty.”

The sound of Paul’s slurring voice has him jolting out of his thoughts, and not a second later the saggy old mattress Christoph is sitting on shifts under Paul’s weight. His small body crushes into his own; Paul’s following laugh is contagious.

Christoph feels young and stupid and easy-going as Paul thrusts the nearly empty bottle of vodka into his hand. He stares at him with an expectant grin, until Christoph relents and downs the leftovers with a nauseated twisting of his face.This shit must have been really cheap.

“Good boy,” Paul muses and gives him a firm pat on the back before he’s leaning his head against Christoph’s shoulder and shouting against the loud music, “Did you see that lead singer of The Antics? Dude, she was hot.”

Christoph only just manages to recall some punky mess of a girl with teased black and green hair, and some heavy make-up. And boobs. He remembers himself staring at her cleavage like a thirteen year old boy who’s never seen tits before. Trying to repress a dumb grin, he states flatly, “Only because she had two convincing artilleries, you dick-driven sap.”

Paul’s blonde hair tickles Christoph’s neck as he giggles and lifts his hands in the air, proclaiming, “Outplayed.”

Christoph answers with a smack to Paul’s head. In result, it has them playfully wrestling: Paul is on top of him, clumsily trying to hold his wrists to the mattress, but obviously being far too drunk to withstand Chirstoph’s army skills and drum trained arms. He sluggishly lets himself fall next to the taller man, and lets his giggling fade out while he watches Christoph sit up again. He gives Paul a final slap on his tummy.

“Prick,” Paul beams at him with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Oy! Morons!”

Christoph looks up to see Aljoscha joining their small group, his stare seemingly clouded and restless, undoubtedly from whatever he already got his hands on.

“Fancy a reefer?” He stretches out his arm and offers a long, slim joint to the two of them with a grin showing off his teeth which are, by far, not what one would call beautiful. They have some black spots here and there, and even miss some bits, which adds to his intimidating aura along with the dark circles under his piercing eyes. Christoph always feels a shudder running down his spine when he leans into him like that and rests his gaze on him.

Happily, Paul bounces up from his laying position to catch the lit spliff out of Aljoscha’s grasp. He settles himself next to Christoph, back against the brittle wall behind them, before enclosing the butt with a sluggish pursing of his lips and taking a long drag from it.

Christoph sets his gaze on Paul exhaling the smoke and letting his head tip back on the dirty wall, closing his eyelids. His features relax completely, the usual wrinkles around his eyes and mouth disappear, until a faint smile pulls at the corners of his lips. He hands the cigarette over to Christoph in a slow motion. Slightly faltering, Christoph accepts it. He’s never been a big fan of blazing but eventually he figures one drag will do no harm.

As soon as the smoke enters his lungs he has to resist the urge to cough. He still isn’t used to puffing, so he quickly hands the joint back to Paul since Aljoscha already disappeared somewhere into the crowded area of the club. Christoph can feel the impact of the weed slowly clouding his senses, as if someone laid a sheer, white blanket over his cognitions. Everything happens slower, the colorful lights which illuminate dancing, sweaty people blend together, and he can’t help but let a silly smile spread on his face.

As he turns his head to look at Paul again he seems incredibly close to him, grinning into Christoph’s face as if he just solved the mystery of the Bermuda Triangle. A laugh bursts out of his throat; Paul just looks so young and naïve with his messy blonde ponytail towering on top of his head like an antenna. Gradually, the smaller man joins Christoph in his laughing and lets himself fall forward. He lands face first in Christoph’s crotch, which has Christoph jolting and immediately shoving Paul’s head off him, as quickly as his current state allows. He feels his ears becoming red and hot, although both of them are gasping for air and doubling over with laughter at this point.

Paul eventually rolls off Christoph’s legs as they recover from the hilarity, and looks up at him with big, round eyes, stating flatly, “Your lap is really fucking comfy.”

Then he crawls towards Christoph and literally sits down on top of him, grinning like an idiot.

Christoph wordlessly watches him do so; he’s simply too spaced out to doubt his actions. Paul’s weight, though he’s a small and rather skinny type of guy, makes him release a quiet grunt. The bones of his butt painfully bore into Christoph’s thighs as Paul shifts into a cross-legged position. He shows no intention to move off Christoph. Christoph simply grabs Paul by the hips and draws him closer to himself, so he’s sitting in his lap rather than directly on his upper legs.

Putting one arm around Christoph’s shoulders, Paul gives him a bright-eyed, happy look and says in a baby voice, “Thank you.”

That has Christoph snorting and remarking with amusement, “You’re welcome.”

Leaning his head against Christoph’s temple, Paul once again brings the spliff up to his lips to take a drag from it and then holds it right in front of Christoph’s mouth, offering. Christoph relents and takes a drag, his lips briefly brushing Paul’s fingers. He’s feeling the effect much sooner now.

Suddenly, a shadow materializes in front of him.

“You two realize you look like a couple, right?”

It takes Christoph a few seconds to match the voice to an owner and then he recognizes the shadow as Flake.

“Shut up, you’re only jealous you don’t have a seat as comfy as I do”, Paul jokingly snaps at the tall man, who is now crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at him.

“Right.” Flake’s eyes wander over the two men a few seconds more. He sighs and continues, saying, “Anyway, I just wanted to tell you I’m leaving. Keep your dicks in your pants. And if you can’t – remember to use protection.”

Christoph has to hold back a laugh, but Paul obviously feels the need to set it straight. Literally.

“We’re not going to fuck!” he shouts after Flake who just turned around, dismissively waving a hand goodbye over his shoulder.

“Tell him we’re not going to fuck!” Paul demands from Christoph and insistently stares at him.

Unlike his usual demeanor, Christoph feels a rush of tomfoolery shoot through him and then he’s stroking a hand over Paul’s leg and up to his chest while murmuring lowly with exaggeration, “I don’t know yet, you kinda made me hot with all your ass-wiggling on my lap.”

That earns a punch to his bicep, and another strike slapping his hand away. Paul frowns, petulantly.

“You’re a silly nitwit, Christoph.”

“Well, look who’s talking!” Christoph teases him and pinches his sides until Paul is back to giggling. He squirms off his lap to settle beside him again.

With a disappointed pout of his lips, Paul eyes the barely smoldering joint between his fingers and begins fumbling around in order to find a lighter in his pockets. It proves to be a failure after he produces no such thing; he soon lets out a deep sigh and looks at Christoph. “Would you mind leaving, too? You could crash at my place tonight, I’m sure I still have some _supplies_.”

Christoph doesn’t have to consider it much. He counted on Paul as his sleeping accommodation anyway, since he would have to be careful to not disturb his parents on his way to his room. In his current state, not bumping into things seems nearly impossible. Another aspect he envies Paul for; he has his own place. It’s a minimum apartment and Christoph has never seen it even slightly tidied up, but Paul never has to worry about when to come and go; he’s completely free.

Paul gets up first with a heavy grunt, followed by Christoph who has massive balance issues once he’s standing on his feet again. He has to plant a hand against the dirty wall to his left. Once he regains his stability, he runs a hand through his unruly brown curls and grabs his worn out denim jacket to join Paul, whom is already making his way out of the club, shoving through frenetic dancing people.

The fresh air outside hits him like a slap to the face. In comparison to the interior they came out of, it’s rather cold under the dark blue night sky, but Christoph welcomes the feeling of pure oxygen filtering into his strained lungs. He absentmindedly watches his visible exhales in the cool air, and suddenly he feels such an overwhelming sensation of contentment unfurling in his body and in his mind. He can hardly suppress the smile spreading across his face. In this moment, he could do anything, he could be anything, he’s immortal, he’s unstoppable, he’s the king of this whole fucking world.

It takes a few seconds before Christoph realizes the fingers snapping right before his eyes and he sets his gaze on the smaller man in front of him, who stares back at him with a mixture of confusion and amusement.

“Which universe were you just in?” Paul asks with an amused glow in his eyes, before he simply takes Christoph’s hand in his own and drags him along in the direction to his place.

 

Paul doesn’t let go of Christoph’s hand. Christoph lets it happen without a word, until they arrive at the shoddy building Paul resides in. Paul sluggishly begins searching for his keys while Christoph watches him with a raised eyebrow; he really should get him a proper lanyard for his next birthday.

Eventually, Paul raises his arm in triumph before jamming the key into the keyhole and opening the door to bounce through it and up the stairs. Christoph watches him dully and wonders yet again how a person as small and as thin as Paul can hold so much energy.

By the time Christoph surmounted the stairs and arrives at the floor Paul is living on, said man already is throwing himself into his apartment door in order to shove it open while simultaneously struggling to get the key to turn. He quietly curses to himself, “This fucking door, I swear to god…”

Christoph fails to stifle the grin on his lips, amused. Either way, he helps Paul by stepping up and powerfully pushing at the door as well. Finally, it swings open with a creak which has both of them immediately stumbling into Paul’s apartment. Christoph is lucky to break his fall on a nearby dresser, whereas Paul just straight up crashes into the curtain hiding his storeroom. He tries to get ahold of the fabric but it isn’t able to carry his own weight; he very inelegantly flops onto the ground, taking some soup cans and empty bottles down with him in an ear-piercing crash.

Christoph really can’t help it: he bursts out laughing, his boisterous laughter joining Paul’s racket as he quickly closes the door out of consideration for the neighbors. He turns to see Paul struggling to get up while giggling, the alcohol in his body trying its best to operate against him. The image is priceless: Paul looks like a bug that fell upon its back and can’t get up again by itself. He repeatedly fails to balance his weight on one hand, in order to plant his feet under his body to stand up again, only to collapse back down.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Paul’s tone isn’t upset or angry; the aftermath of his laughing still lingers in his voice and makes it higher pitched than usual.

Still amused, Christoph manages to go up to him and offer him a helping hand, grinning, “Actually, yes.”

Paul lets the taller man pull him back up on his feet with an ironic smile on his lips. “Good for you.”

Looking back at the mess he made, Paul heaves a sigh but then just shrugs and paces into his kitchen to open the fridge. Drunkenly swaying forward, he grabs a bottle with clear liquid sloshing around in it. It has Christoph groaning with exasperation, “More vodka?”

Paul crosses his small apartment in a few strides to join Christoph. He enthusiastically unscrews the bottle and shovs it towards him, stating flatly, “More vodka.”

 

An hour and a half later, they’re both sprawled across Paul’s bed, which, actually, should hardly be considered a _bed_. It’s two of those mattresses Christoph had been sitting on in the club—only, Paul’s are even thinner and more worn out from use. A dozen pillows and blankets hide the grubby white surfaces of the mattresses. It almost gives the whole thing a cozy atmosphere; if it wasn’t for the complete cluttering mess of clothes, bottles, books and photographs surrounding them. Still – Christoph has to admit he would love to spend more time here. Maybe he’s influenced by the bottle of vodka, which at this point is emptied down to a half, and by the weed Paul suddenly pulled out of nowhere some time ago.

“Hey, dude,” Paul’s voice is low and sluggish, “Since when are sunflowers growing on my ceiling?”

Christoph, lying on his back next to Paul, narrows his eyes, trying to figure out how his friend perceives those pansies as sunflowers. But then Paul noisily shifts on his side and props up on one elbow to face Christoph. Eyebrows raised, the younger man meets his gaze doubtfully. He watches Paul slowly shuffle closer. He’s far too spaced-out to consider what he’s about to do, until a pair of warm lips are pressed against his own.

The kiss is sluggish, to say the least, both of them being as high as a mountain and as drunk as a sailor. Christoph doesn’t dare close his eyes—he’s sure he would lose orientation and everything would begin to spin both in his mind and body. Paul hardly moves his lips against Christoph’s, who isn’t quite active himself. They’re just pressing their mouths together, rather than actually kissing; like dolls which are forced together by the small hands of a child.

For a moment, the thought of how weird it feels to kiss Paul flashes through Christoph’s mind. He’s never considered him more than his friend, who has lately become a very _good_ friend, and the concept of kissing him seems odd. But he can’t muster up enough motivation or energy to withdraw. He just lies there, accepting Paul’s lips, gaze set somewhere on Paul’s left ear, though his vision is becoming hazy. Christoph is sure that this whole situation would have been substantially more awkward for both of them if they weren’t so influenced by the intoxicants.

Christoph feels like the kiss lasted forever, though it probably didn’t last more than a solid twenty seconds. The smaller man disconnects their stiff lips and retreats, laying his restless, slightly reddened eyes on Christoph. He blinks a few times, squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again all while Christoph lies motionless on his back, staring back at Paul. He’s tempted to ask him for an explanation, but is interrupted by said man, stating flatly, without any sign of a smile showing on his face, “Let’s never do that again.”

With an audible _thump_ , Paul collapses back against the mattress and leaves Christoph bewildered, wondering what the hell was going through his head. Regardless, his confused thoughts ebb away when intensifying giggling reaches his ears. Lethargically, Christoph rolls his head to the side to glance at Paul, only to see his entire body shaking with laughter.

Lying on his back, Paul seems to have no control over his laughter. Christoph watches his shoulders tremble and his knees lift up to his stomach in a desperate attempt to handle the developing belly cramps due to his fit of giggling. In the corners of his eyes Christoph recognizes a faint glistening; he’s _really_ crying from laughter? Paul’s face is in a grimace by now and suddenly, Christoph feels his own lips involuntarily lifting up. The stupid smile spreads across his whole face until, eventually, it draws a small laugh out of him which has Paul beaming at him and saying, “Really, you should have seen your face!”

Christoph nearly fails to understand Paul due to his changed voice; high-pitched from the giggling, joined by the slurring from the alcohol. Somehow, he manages to catch the majority of it.

“It was glorious! I should have taken a picture of it, but I needed my camera! Dude, it was _hilarious_ , and you looked so ridiculous! Why didn’t you move? If that’s your way of kissing someone, I can easily tell you what your problem with the girls is. It’s much more fun kissing a head of lettuce; at least its leaves move when you blow on it!”

Really, Christoph doesn’t get the comparison at all. Still, Paul’s laugh is unavoidably contagious. He can feel tears building in the corners of his eyes as he stolidly counters, interrupted by his own giggles, “As if you were any better, casanova. Why did you even do that?”

Paul’s fit of laughter returns; he’s covering his tummy with both hands now and throwing his head back in the pillows. His mouth is hanging open as he desperately tries to suck in breaths, in-between his breathless laughter. He’s acting like Christoph just told the greatest joke in the entire fucking universe. For a moment, Christoph thinks about how this scene must appear to any onlooker, but soon he is interrupted by Paul answering his question, wheezing, “It was _definitely_ worth it. Also, you looked like you could use a kiss! And I bet you’ve never kissed a man, so you should thank me for offering you that experience.”

With a shit-eating grin on his face, Paul turns to Christoph, his cheeks flushed pink due to his laughter. Christoph can only sluggishly shake his head. Paul’s logic isn’t logical in the least, but Christoph decides to play along. Sarcastically grinning, Christoph says, “Thank you so, so much, Paul. You are my angel and my guardian. I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

Paul laughs once more and then remarks cheekily with a broad grin, “You are very welcome, my dear Doom. Though that was the last time my lips touch yours, just to set this straight.”

Christoph chuckles, “Yes, definitely, we’re on the same boat here.”

 

At an indiscernible time later, Christoph notices Paul’s groaning. He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but he is jolted out of a peaceful doze regardless. He flicks his eyes over to Paul who pouts petulantly, “I’m getting too sober!”

Then he gropes at the sheets around him, until he gets ahold of what he was searching for. He props himself up on his elbows to begin messily rolling another joint. Christoph decides to withhold any sort of comment. He lets himself get lost in the quiet crinkling sound, soon to be followed by the “click” from a lighter. Then comes Paul’s initial inhale and slow exhale, releasing the thick smoke from between his dry lips.

Languidly, Paul passes the lit spliff over to Christoph, who accepts it at a languid pace. He brings it up to his lips, clutching the cigarette between them before taking a long, deep drag from it. He can feel the impact much faster now, numbing his senses and slowing down his thinking process.

 

The last reefer must have knocked them out completely. Christoph cracks his eyes open, delirious. The early sunlight falling through the dirty glass of Paul’s window blinds him momentarily. With a grimace and a grumpy groan, Christoph turns his head away from it. Only then he realizes there is a warm, smaller body pressed to his chest. He looks down to find his arms wrapped around Paul; he’s spooning the blonde man, who snores softly in his sleep. A gentle smile slowly pulls at the corners of Christoph’s lips. Paul looks so calm and quiet—the complete opposite of his usual self. Christoph lets his eyes fall shut again. He’s still too spaced out to care about the unexpected physical affection. Soon enough, the sleep licking at his consciousness has him dozing off.

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is [wiener-blut](http://wiener-blut.tumblr.com/)


End file.
